


Nerves

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: Logan's not going to be able to make it through this dinner.
Relationships: Julian Larson-Armstrong/John Logan Wright III
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Nerves

Logan's a fucking _disaster_.

He'd nearly run over Mrs. Neilson from next door while backing out of the driveway, had run a stop sign just two streets later (in a deserted intersection, thank god, not that it had stopped Julian from shouting in surprise). His hands are twitching on the steering wheel, and he'd alternated between driving far too fast and abnormally slow. He's surprised Julian's even willing to walk into the restaurant with him like this. 

But he can control himself. He can do this. He strolls up to the hostess's stand with confidence, hoping Julian doesn't notice his slightly sweaty palms as their hands link together.

"We have a seven o'clock reservation," he says, "Under the name Logan Larson."

_Logan Larson?_

_For fuck's sake_.

He hears Julian's muffled laugh beside him. Thankfully, the hostess doesn't blink. She knows them, of course -- it's their favorite restaurant.

"Good evening Mr. Wright. Mr. Larson. Your usual table is ready, if you'll follow me."

Logan takes a deep breath as he follows her across the floor. He swears he can feel every set of eyes on him at once, as if the entire restaurant knows what he's planning for tonight. He presses his free hand against the swell of his pants pocket, feeling a little better when his fingers touch the small black box tucked away there.

It's all fine.

This is going to be _fine_.

He tries to be romantic. He pulls Julian's chair out for him, but Julian doesn't seem to realize that's what's happening. Julian takes the opposite chair, sliding in unassisted, and Logan fumbles for a bit as he moves around to sit himself.

It's _fine_.

Except he hadn't anticipated sitting on this side of the table. He'd planned this out in such minute detail in his mind, pictured exactly how he would reach across the table, how he would drop out of the chair onto one knee. It had been so _precise_ , and now he's totally thrown off balance. 

_Control yourself, Wright_.

The waiter comes by, offering wine and appetizers. Logan manages a smile as the wine is poured, asks for the bottle to be left. 

"Any appetizers, sirs? Our specials tonight are the shrimp cocktail and the mushroom crostini."

Logan had planned this, too. What appetizer had he picked out? It had been perfect, he remembers, something he knew Julian would like. But he can't remember. So instead, what comes out of his mouth is:

"The first one, thanks."

Julian turns to him, frowning, "The shrimp? That you're deathly allergic to?"

Logan chokes. The waiter looks confused.

"The crostini, I think," Julian corrects, "So long as there's no shellfish on it."

The waiter nods. Logan picks up his wine glass, tries to calm himself with a long sip. Of fucking _course_ he spills, deep red staining the pure white of his shirt. Julian, thankfully, says nothing. 

Though Logan definitely notices his lips quirk upwards.

It'll be fine. He just won't talk, not until he fixes his damn self. He pretends to be thoroughly invested in his menu, staring at the words emblazoned across the page until his eyes blur. The appetizers arrive, and Logan shoves a bite into his mouth without thinking.

It's _hot_.

His eyes water, but he's not going to be so undignified he spits the food into his napkin. He's a goddamn _Wright_.

He downs the rest of his wine, instead. The liquid cools down the heat of the melted cheese, but he chokes a bit on how full his mouth is. He can't just swallow, and chewing with all the wine proves difficult. He's sure there are actual tears running down his cheeks, and he's probably red from the embarrassment. He feels like a goddamn idiot, and he looks even worse, and why is Julian even _with him_?

Just as the thought crosses his mind, Julian leans over the table, both of his hands falling over one of Logan's own. He waits for Logan to control himself, gives him time to chew and swallow and _breathe_.

"Logan," he says gently, his voice soft, "Can you please try to relax? I promise you I'm going to say yes."

Of _course_ he knows.

Logan takes another steadying breath, "You promise? Even after...all this mess?"

"I wanted to marry you when you had the flu last month and spent two nights crying on the floor of the bathroom. I think I can handle a wine stain on your shirt."

Despite his embarrassment, Logan laughs a little, "That's...that's good, then. Because I really want to ask you."

"I really _want_ you to ask me."

Julian smiles -- a beautiful, shining smile, and _god_ Logan wants to marry this man -- and sits back, looking down at his menu once more. He orders exactly what Logan predicted, and Logan finally finds his words well enough to place his own order. They eat mostly in silence, sharing quiet smiles and soft looks.

Dessert comes, perfectly on cue with Logan's over-the-phone request. 

It's a chocolate mousse tower, identical to the one they'd eaten on their first date, at a different restaurant halfway across the country. He can hear Julian's breath catch, sees the way his eyes flick upward.

Logan slips the box from his pocket and slides onto one knee.


End file.
